


i can't explain the state that i'm in

by comorbidity



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Crush, they still love each other tho, this much is undeniable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comorbidity/pseuds/comorbidity
Summary: "About last night."Alex winces as he hears the words. He looks toward George but doesn't meet his eye. "Yeah, I -"(sequel to there i go, twisting your arm)
Relationships: George Andrew/Alex Elmslie
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	i can't explain the state that i'm in

It feels too early when Alex finally drifts back into the waking world. His phone reveals that it's approaching noon, which isn't early at all, but he still wishes he could be unconscious for a while longer. Facing the day means dealing with the consequences of his idiocy, and he'd take being knocked out for several more hours - or perhaps a day or two - over having to face George.

In spite of how much he had to drink last night, Alex doesn't feel as hungover as he ought to be. There's no headache or nausea, only an ugly twist of anxiety in his midsection that won't loosen its grip. He wonders if the sobering aftermath of the confession was enough to have spared him today, but he thinks that being bludgeoned by a hangover would have at least given him an excuse to stay in bed longer. Of course he's totally fine - physically, in any case. Bright eyed and ready to go out into the apartment and see just how uncomfortable he's made everything.

Groaning, Alex throws the duvet aside and swings his legs over the side of the bed before planting his face in his hands. He strains for any sound of George bustling around his room or the apartment at large, but he hears nothing save for his own racing heart. Maybe if he's lucky George will still be asleep, unlikely though it is for Alex to be the first one awake. He can't go without attempting to mitigate any damage caused, but he can at least put it off for a little while.

He spends his time throwing on fresh clothes in a state of moody despair, imagining all the ways in which George might possibly express his upset or discomfort at having been put on the spot in such a colossally awkward manner. The best scenario would involve neither of them bringing it up and pretending as though nothing had changed - which, for all intents and purposes, could be the case. Alex didn’t blab to George truly believing that anything would come of it, extensive hopeless fantasies aside, and he's perfectly happy to continue on as they have been. But will George feel similarly, newly burdened with the knowledge that his flatmate has been pining after him for god knows how long?

Worst case scenario would be their friendship withering under the strain. Alex tries not to dwell on this possibility, though the myriad anecdotal instances of one-way confessions leading to ruined friendships keep flitting across his mind. The thought makes him sick.

Leaving his room has never felt so daunting. Alex takes a deep breath before opening the door, as though he's expecting George to be waiting outside with his arms crossed. Of course there's no one, and a cursory check reveals George's door is still closed. A small victory for now.

Alex makes his way into the kitchen, attempting to shift his focus toward making coffee and not the concept of George presenting him with an eviction notice. He knows the caffeine will do little to settle his anxiety, but setting up the brewer is at least a temporary distraction. This is a normal thing to do, after all - wake up, put the coffee on. Maybe if he keeps going through the motions he can fool himself into believing that nothing is amiss.

He's just about to pour himself a mug when he hears a soft voice call out  _ Al? _

With a start, Alex lets out a small yelp, spilling some of the coffee onto the countertop in the process. He spins around to face his flatmate, who he didn’t even hear enter the room. Heart stammering wildly once again, Alex fumbles for a return greeting - a simple good morning (or afternoon) would do - but his mouth has gone dry, and the ability to speak escapes him completely. Brilliant.

George looks freshly showered, hair still wet and sticking up every which way. He's shaved as well, though he's still wearing his glasses instead of the contacts. And even though he's thrown on his usual plain black shirt and a pair of joggers, Alex privately laments how good he looks. It's the wrong thing to be thinking in his current predicament, but he can't help it. The stupid infatuation is there for a reason.

Despite his best efforts, Alex can't get a read on George's mood. He doesn't look particularly upset, but that doesn't mean anything; he's notoriously good at maintaining a poker face even without his disguise. 

George, perhaps sensing that Alex is struggling to form words, opts to break the silence. "How are you feeling?" He sounds sincere enough, with no trace of ice in his tone.

"Pretty okay, actually," Alex says, though it still feels as though he's speaking around a mouthful of cotton. "How about you?" The smalltalk feels forced, painful - but he's not going to be the one to launch into awkward apologies if George doesn't intend on bringing anything up right away.

"Not bad." His voice is still maddeningly level. He pads over to join Alex by the coffee machine, retrieving his own mug and then tutting - not unkindly - as he notices the spilled coffee.

"Right, yeah," Alex says, hastily grabbing some kitchen roll to clean up the mess. "Sorry, got a bit startled."

"Yeah, I could tell." George is focused on preparing his own coffee and doesn't watch as Alex tidies up, for which Alex is grateful - he's equal parts overwhelmed and gratified by George's proximity, since it surely means that he can't be too furious.

Still, the air seems to be thicker from all the tension; Alex feels as though he must be moving in slow motion as he goes to toss the paper in the bin before returning to the coffee machine. He pours himself another mug, taking care not to spill any this time, and tries to quell the simmering anxiety in his chest as George steps back a few paces to lean on another counter, coffee in hand.

"About last night."

Alex winces as he hears the words. He looks toward George but doesn't meet his eye. "Yeah, I -"

"I'm... sorry about... all that," George continues, interrupting Alex's blustering. His fingers are drumming nervously over the surface of the mug. "Acted like a right prick."

So stunned is he by the fact that George is the one apologising that Alex is a moment in collecting his scattered thoughts. He's gaping at George like a fool, but he can't seem to reconcile his previous catastrophising with this sudden (completely unwarranted, in his opinion) admission of guilt.

George is staring into the depths of his coffee now. "I was drunk. And tired. Not an excuse, but... I didn't know what to say." He shifts his weight uncomfortably. "Still don't really know what to say."

Alex wishes the ground would swallow him whole. Barring that possibility, he strives to summon a response. "Yeah, well, should've kept my stupid mouth shut, right?" He tries to smile to ease the self-directed jab, but it feels strained and weak. "Don't worry about it."

A pipe dream, since of course George will worry about it. The wonderful bastard actually cares about Alex's feelings, after all. They haven't been such good friends for so long without cause.

The corners of George's mouth tighten; his brow furrows as though he's deliberating over the difficulty of his next statement. Taking a quick, harsh breath, he looks up to face Alex. "You know I'm not..." He trails off, eyes seemingly beseeching Alex to fill in the blanks so he doesn't have to.

"I know," Alex says quickly. "I do. I wasn't trying to, y'know, get anything from it." He resists the urge to cringe at his own waffling and ploughs forward. "Just thought it might be, funny to know, which sounds idiotic now I've said it out loud."

A fractional smile breaks through the clouds in George's expression. It's not much, but it's a crack in the sombre facade. "Sure you weren't trying to seduce me, then?" 

Alex knows he shouldn't trust the moment of levity, not when he's still so petrified that he's gone and put an irremovable stain on their relationship, but he's too bolstered by George's comment to care. "I mean, let's face it, would've been a bit of a plot twist."

George is still grinning slightly, but there's that trace of guilt in his eyes, and Alex feels all the worse for noticing it. 

Pausing to take a sip of his coffee, George shakes his head. His next words are stilted, his clear discomfort at having to be vulnerable in any capacity practically radiating from him. "Either way... guess I'm sorry that I'm not... I can't be... that person. You know."

Alex loves him all the more then, in a hopeless, desperate, useless way - loves him for the absurd moments of selflessness like these, from the man whose stubborn self-interest is one of his most defining features. But George has always been attentive to Alex's needs, regardless of whether he expresses it openly. Alex can read it in his gestures, his indirect words. George may be good at masking his emotions, but Alex knows him well enough to read between the lines when it matters most.

"You don't have to be." Alex wishes they had a more physical rapport, anything that would justify going over to George and taking him by the shoulder, as though the touch would communicate more than his mumbled assurances could. "You're my best mate. All I could ask for, really."

George glances up like he doesn't dare believe what Alex is saying. "Sure about that? Because if this is... difficult for you..."

"No," Alex cuts in, almost in a panic. "Not at all. I'm fine, I swear. Listen, I'm the one who should be sorry. Went running my mouth when I knew it was a stupid idea. It's not on you, mate."

There's still a fretful line creasing George's brow, but his posture seems to loosen somewhat - though Alex wonders if this might only be wishful thinking. "Okay. Just don't want you to be miserable or something."

"I'm fine," Alex repeats. He can feel his hands trembling, and he redoubles his grip on the mug to keep them steady. "Long as you are, anyway."

"M'all right." It's the closest he's sounded to the normal George yet. The worry line smooths as he gives Alex a proper smile this time. "Not letting you convince me to drink vodka again, though. My head feels like shit."

Alex, who wants to say that George certainly doesn't look like a man being brutalised by a hangover - looks too good, in fact, for the morning after drinking - contents himself with a sympathetic grimace. He raises his coffee in a half-cheers sort of gesture, as if to indicate it's the best remedy. Certainly he's already feeling more relieved, warm drink in hand and chest somewhat less constricted by anxiety. The guilt isn't quite gone, not yet, but at least George isn't upset. That's the best he can ask for right now.

They continue to drink their coffee in silence - a comfortable one this time. Alex sneaks glances over at George (whose attention has shifted over to his phone) whenever he dares, as though he's waiting for George to be struck by a sudden change of heart, like he'll decide that it's not worth the struggle after all and suggest they spend some time apart or something stupid like that. 

But Alex knows that won't happen; despite all of his most absurd fears since last night, he believes in his heart that if George says he's all right, then it must be true. 

He does love George - that much certainly won't change just because it's out in the open, however mildly he put it and however poorly it went over - but certain things have priority over the most elaborate late night imaginings. Things like the easy camaraderie, their living arrangement... their friendship. Alex values that above all else.

If George can take Alex's feelings in stride, then Alex can make his heart beat slow. George is, and has always been, worth whatever it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> couple folks asked, so i delivered... months later... shh
> 
> title is from sufjan stevens's 'the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us' cos i named the first fic after a line in venus (also by him) and these songs are paired in my brain. this is a me problem. don't @ me


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